Chapter 3

Of course, Steve thought, picking himself up off the minister's carpet. Of course, he thought, wincing at the tender spot on his shoulder that he'd managed to land on yet again.

Of course he would trip over the coffee table leg just as he tried to make a graceful exit. Of course. He'd been stumbling for weeks, ever since Paula discovered him in bed with their nanny, naked and fucking up a storm.

She had been furious, as she had every right to be. It didn't matter that he'd never strayed before -- well, not really, not on purpose, not nearly so, ah, flagrantly. Nothing mattered except that his wife had walked in just in time to see another woman coming while she rode his rigid cock.

Steve had stuttered through an apology, even as he'd scrambled into some clothes, getting all the buttons wrong and painfully catching his dick in a zipper. Paula hadn't reacted at all, not even when the pain made him flinch and he got tangled in his pant legs, tumbling to the floor.

She had stayed quite calm as she threw him out of the house, barely giving him enough time to grab socks and underwear. She hadn't even let him stay around to tell the kids, and when he called them later, from the motel, he wasn't sure what Paula had told them, or what he should, so he just mouthed some platitudes and hung up. For a week afterward, Rick had barely talked to him and Suzy wouldn't even come to the phone.

Then Paula told him he could come back home, and he arrived with flowers and perfume. But she was gone, with a note saying that since he was the cheater, he should be the one to do the laundry and make the dinners and deal with the kids. She was moving into a hotel. A much nicer one than the place he'd been staying, to judge by the first month's credit card bill.

Far from welcoming him back, she'd followed up with notice that she was filing for divorce. He'd tried to call her, even staked out her hotel, but all that got him was a temporary restraining order.

It had been an armed truce in the house. Suzy timed her arrivals and departures to avoid him. If it weren't for the dirty dishes in the sink and the towels on the floor of her bathroom, he wouldn't even be sure she was alive. Rick was taking it better -- at least he was still obeying his curfews, so Steve saw him around the house. But polite Rick had turned truculent and developed a taste for raunchy rap played at ear-splitting volume.

And Steve could not keep up with his job and the housework on his own. The kids weren't going to help. So, though he knew it was risky, he had Zosia come in twice a week. Always when the house was empty. But he needed the help, and she probably needed the money. Paula had booted the nanny out just after Steve, and she was living with some friends but not having any success finding a job.

His life had fallen to pieces so suddenly, Steve spent most of his days in a haze at work -- Mr. Kiefer had chewed him out twice already for forgetting meetings. His nights were beer and TV and feeling sorry for himself. Weekends he reserved for worrying about how he was going to pay the lawyer's bills on top of everything else.

It was the financial squeeze that had him clutching at straws. Paula was putting on a lot of pressure for him to agree to the divorce and end their marriage quickly. He wanted to fight for time, but he couldn't afford it. Finally he made his offer: If she would go to counseling with him, he would agree to sign the papers if it didn't work out.

Problem was, he couldn't afford a certified counselor. They had to settle for Rev. Michaels. He was a white-haired smoothie who often forgot to get around to God in his sermons, but at least he was free.

But then Steve had missed the first session -- Mr. Kiefer wouldn't let him go without finishing the Zercom report.

He made the second, but it didn't go well. Paula had evidently spent the first session filling Rev. Michaels in on Steve's shortcomings. The minister spent the second grilling Steve, gently but firmly.

At the third, just ended, Steve had started with an abject apology and a heartfelt expression of love. Even the minister looked moved.

Somehow, though, it wasn't enough. Paula insisted she didn't trust him, could never trust him again. And he wasn't supportive enough. And he was never home. And the list went on and on.

The only thing Steve had on his side was their deal. Only when the minister agreed that counseling was going nowhere would Steve have to sign the divorce papers. Rev. Michaels clearly wasn't ready to do that. He'd even asked Paula to stay after. To take her to task for being so hard-hearted, Steve hoped.

That's when he had gotten to his feet and promptly fallen over. He slunk out, holding his aching shoulder.

Of course, Paula thought, as Steve tumbled to the floor. Of course, she thought, as he slowly got to his feet.

Of course he would find some way to delay his exit. Of course. He'd been finding ways to dawdle and delay from the moment she'd found him in bed with Nanny, fucking each other's brains out, what little they had.

At first Paula had been merely furious. But, as Steve had stalled, mumbling apologies and pretending to have trouble getting dressed, she'd realized something.

She didn't have to forgive and forget. Not anymore. She didn't need his paltry salary. She was rich.

Or she would be, once she got Daddy's money. And she'd be richer if she didn't have to share it with Steve.

So she threw him out and went to work. A quick call to Jeff confirmed her suspicion: If she wanted to keep Daddy's money for herself, she'd have to get divorced first. Jeff was very helpful, giving her the name of a sharp divorce lawyer, even managing to "misplace" a few documents to delay the reading of the will and such. She finagled a few extra weeks herself by suggesting her mother go off on vacation before getting down to paperwork, much to the disgust of Ephraim Carruthers Esq.

But Steve was still refusing to budge on the divorce. She'd agreed to the sham counseling sessions, but then he skips out on the very first one, and takes up the entire second yakking with the minister. Would they never get it over with?

Her soon-to-be-ex-husband finally dragged his sorry carcass from the room. Paula turned to the minister expectantly. Surely he would agree that the marriage was dead and she could get her piece of paper.

Rev. Michaels leaned back in his office chair, lacing his fingers over his ample stomach. "Do you know," he asked, "why I wanted you to stay tonight?"

"I'm pretty sure," Paula said. "You wanted to say our marriage --"

"Yes. I wanted to say your marriage can be saved, Paula. I appreciate the effort you're making to work through your differences, and I'm confident they will bear fruit."

Paula couldn't keep her eyebrows from shooting up.

"I can see you're surprised," he said. "Don't be. I often find that even the most seriously damaged relationships can be healed, if only both partners are committed to it."

"But, Reverend -- Steve and I -- Well, you heard it tonight."

"Indeed I did. It was so refreshing to hear someone so determined to save a marriage that she would lay it all out in the open like that. You truly impressed me tonight, Paula. But then, you've impressed me all along. Going ahead with our first session even though Steve couldn't make it -- another wife, one less eager to save her marriage, would have just walked out."

Paula could hardly see straight. This overinflated gasbag actually believed the feel-good nonsense he spouted. At this rate -- she had to ask. "So you think we should keep meeting?"

"Oh, my, yes. We've made progress, but we're not out of the woods yet. Slow but steady, that's the way."

Paula was getting hypnotized watching his short white whiskers as his jaw flapped. This couldn't be happening. "Slow? How slow -- I mean, how much longer?"

"Oh. Well. Months, certainly. Possibly years. There's a lot to work on, you made that clear tonight, and we won't have a clear view of the outcome until we've tackled every issue, one by one. Yes, months, at least."

"Then -- then you have no intention of declaring an impasse? Of saying we've tried and failed?"

"Heavens, no. Don't worry about that, Paula. I give you my solemn word, I will not give up. Not a chance."

He was leaning forward by then, pounding his fist onto the desk for emphasis. "Not. A. Chance."

Paula leapt to her feet and leaned over the desk herself, her face inches from his. "You've got it all wrong," she cried. "I'm not trying to save my marriage. I'm trying to kill it. And you're screwing it up. Screwing it up, do you hear me? You and your happy talk and your 'we can work it out' crap. I've had it! This marriage is dead. Dead! So why not just sign a damn paper saying so and let us bury it?"

The minister's face grew red, but his voice remained low and he was calm. Maddeningly calm, as far as Paula was concerned.

"Now, now, Paula. Please sit down. Take a deep breath."

She ignored his words and stayed where she was. The minister sat back and said nothing for a full minute, just looking at her. Paula grew uncomfortable under his gaze, and she felt silly just standing there. She gave up and sat down.

"That's better," he said. "Now. Let me see if I have this straight. You do not wish to save your marriage, is that right? You merely wished to 'punch your ticket, ' so to speak, with these counseling sessions? So you could get your husband's consent?"

She pursed her lips. "Yes."

"I see. So all of these meetings, all of it, it was a sham, was it? You just want to use me to get what you wanted?" His voice was still smooth as glass, soft as a summer morning.

Paula stood up. "Fine. Don't sign it. I'll find someone else." She knew there wasn't time, but she couldn't stand his sanctimony.

"Sit down." His voice grew harder. She sat down, warily.

"I didn't say I wouldn't sign your paper. I was just making sure we understood how things stand."

"But why --"

He cut her off. "You aren't the first wife in a hurry to divorce, you know. What is it in your case? Lover on the side you don't want him to find? Got your next husband already lined up?

"It doesn't matter. I've seen them all. Whatever the reason, they want their divorces on the fast track, so they cut some kind of deal. 'Let's try counseling, ' they say, 'and if it doesn't work out, well... '

"Quite a bargain, eh? Only what does Rev. Michaels get out of it? A lot of wasted time and effort?"

Paula squirmed. She would have bolted except for the hint that he'd sign after all. If she could just be patient, it might still work out.

"Yes," he said, "I've been down this road before. And you're far from the first wife in that chair. So what shall e do about it?"

He leaned far back.

"I'll tell you this." The minister looked up at the ceiling. "The other women in your position, they truly wanted me to -- well, to bless their divorce. And I know they did, because they were willing to do anything to convince me."

He pulled his eyes down and stared straight into hers. "What about you, Paula? Just how much do you want this divorce? What will you do to get it?"

She looked into the minister's deep blue eyes and saw her own staring back. Paula smiled. "I think," she said, crossing her legs, "I think we can do business."

Rev. Michaels's lips twitched. "When?"

"No time like the present."

"I was hoping you'd say that." He got to his feet. "If you would... come this way?"

Paula stayed where she was. "I want to be clear," she said. "Clear about the deal. It's one for one, right? One time, one signature."

"Of course, Paula. One for one."

"So sign. Now. And let me have it."

He had been walking toward the door. He stopped. "Paula. Surely you can trust me. After all, I'm a man of God."

She didn't budge from the chair. "I trust the god," she said. "It's the man I'm not so sure about. Put it this way. I may not think the dealer's cheating, but I still want to cut the cards."

He walked slowly back to his desk, pulled out a sheet of paper and scratched out a few lines. He handed it to her. "Satisfactory?"

She glanced at it and put it in her purse. "That will do nicely. Now. Shall we?"

The minister led the way to his bedroom. With its dark wallpaper and brown rug, it was a dim cave even when he switched on the lone, small table lamp. She was grateful for the dark when he took off his clothes. She didn't want a clearer view of his wrinkles and his gut. Nor did she need to see his leer when she stripped.

He invited her onto his small bed. She gave him a hard look. "You first," she said.

When he obeyed, she produced a thin smile. That, she thought, was more like it.

The minister got on his back, his stubby cock pointing straight up. Paula straddled his legs, letting the tip of his dick ride along her slit. She considered having him suck her, but he didn't look like much of an expert. And the sooner it was over, the better.

When she was sufficiently lubricated, she put his cock to her cunt and sat down on it. Rev. Michaels grunted as she began to assault him, bouncing wildly.

He grabbed her waist. "Slow down," he begged. "Slower! You're driving me crazy!"

She closed her eyes, threw her head back and kept pounding. He didn't have the strength to stop her.

Give him credit, she thought: He did have stamina. For all her pounding, he was staying with her. His fists thumped into the mattress and his head rolled from side to side as he moaned, but his cock stayed hard.

In fact, with her eyes closed, she could forget his looks, and it wasn't half bad. With the right jiggling of her hips, she could generate enough friction even from his dick to get off -- which she did, her body convulsing in a heat of passion.

As the flush wore off, she congratulated herself. But the hands groping at her tits reminded her that self-gratification was not the mission.

He was clumsy and none too stimulating, but she put aside her own desires and concentrated on his cock. With a fair amount of effort she could flex her pussy muscles just enough to give him an extra thrill. She rarely made the effort, but the minister was a tough nut to crack.